


five times they kissed (but not on the mouth)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the Cousy Valentine's Drabble-thon. Prompt: "kiss: anywhere but the mouth".





	five times they kissed (but not on the mouth)

**one.**

She’s tired, and figuring out a way out of this room is possible, but it will take some time. Her limbs ache, and she’s glad she can always fall back on her hacking skills when things go south. She decides to sit and rest for a moment. Coulson decides to sit by her side. She hates that he is in danger as well, but she’s kind of relieved she’s not alone in here, also kind of relieved the company is specifically Coulson.

“Let me see,” he says, offering his hand.

Daisy slips hers into his offer, wincing before she even makes contact. These bastards’ guns had messed her gauntlets and in the end, to make sure she and Coulson could make it to the control room, Daisy had to overdo it a little with her powers without the protection. It’s not too bad, not even too painful - more annoying than anything else - but the tips of the fingers on her left hand are showing tiny blue stains.

Coulson turns her hand on his knee, holding Daisy by the wrist, making sure not to touch the injured parts. He’s really gentle in a way that makes the gesture strangely intimate.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at the hand. “You got hurt protecting me.”

Daisy shrugs. “How many times have you gotten hurt trying to protect me. You don’t have to apologize, I’m glad to be the one who keeps you safe.”

She’s perhaps being a little more upfront or maybe more articulate than she’d normally be, but she’s a bit exhausted from all the running and fighting. Then Coulson brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the tip of her injured fingers, so light and soft for a moment Daisy is not sure if he is really kissing them. She freezes. Coulson’s eyes avoid her. She feels something like gratitude in that strange gesture, but also something like… like a _knowledge_ of who Daisy is, an acknowledgement of her frailty. She wouldn’t normally like that - she doesn’t like people knowing everything about her - but because it’s Coulson, she feels it’s okay.

He leaves her hand on his knee again, and after a minute of silence Daisy is back on her feet, figuring a way to stop this damn machine. They don’t ever talk about Coulson kissing her fingers.

 

**two.**

“The only reason they’re going after you is because of me,” Daisy says.

That might be objectively true, but it’s not a truth he’s comfortable admitting. This is just a byproduct of trying to keep the world safe.

“It’s okay,” he says, turning down the volume on the tv. “It’s part of the job.”

The program they’ve been watching looks seedy enough without the running commentary of all the sins of Quake and - the special this time - her acquaintances. Right wing pundits keep mocking Daisy’s “bleeding-heart” stances, while airing the dirty laundry of anyone they see come into contact with. Needless to say Coulson is the first person on that list.

“Yeah but I know how difficult this must be for you,” Daisy adds. “These assholes talking about your father’s death like that.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, this time touching Daisy’s elbow. She doesn’t need to be consumed with guilt for something she’s also a victim of.

She gives him a curious look.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

Coulson sees in her face that she knows it’s useless to ask, but also that she can’t _not_ ask. And that last part tips something inside him and for the first time ever he goes yes, I want to talk about it. He’s always wanted to talk about it, with Daisy. Once he starts he regrets not having done it years ago, having buried these memories for so long, unfairly burying the man at the center of it. His father deserved to be talked about. Daisy listens, for what it seems like an eternity, with that expression of hers that always makes Coulson go “how does she do it?” except there’s no trick, that’s the thing about Daisy, this is what she is, the way Coulson can feel her emotions, this boundless compassion as she listens, it makes him feel even more sorry for himself, because she makes it so easy, it pours out of him and in the end he pulls her towards him, admitting that he has to ask something from her for the first time, that right now he needs her, and Daisy holds him and kisses the line of his eyebrow, managing the little miracle, how tonight Coulson has gotten a little piece of his father back.

 

**three.**

The first time they have sex - and Daisy so badly wants to call it “make love” in her head, what’s wrong with her - Coulson lowers his mouth to her ribcage and kisses between the ribs, almost reverential, and then he moves across her eager body and plants a long kiss above her stomach. Daisy always remembers that there’s no scar there, but there should have been, except tonight Daisy understands something, looking at Coulson above her, still hiding his body from her under a t-shirt; she understands he didn’t have scars originally, after the Kree blood healed him, he should have been left completely recovered and smooth, just like her stomach, but Director Fury had to add the scars to make the lie of his recovery believable, to stop him from suspecting. Coulson’s scars are just as fake as the story he was sold of how he came back. He shouldn’t have them. Daisy understand this while he bends down and kisses her scar-less skin, and this knowledge makes her come harder when he brings his hand between their bodies, it makes her love him a little better.

 

**four.**

He wakes up as quietly as he went down and the first thing he sees is Daisy, just as the last thing he saw before going down was Daisy. He wonders if she has been here the whole time, sitting by his bed, holding his hand between hers. It seems melodramatic, there’s a pang of guilt here, that he might enjoy - for a second - the idea, because he never had anyone do that for him before.

But that’s the same reason why this is a bad idea. He felt it, when he felt the bullet go into his shoulder, when he saw Daisy’s face, he knew it had to end. He’s let it go on for too long. It’s not just the mistakes they are bound to make on the field - he always knew this kind of attachment was a recipe for disaster, when did he forget that? - it’s that Coulson can’t bear the idea of being the reason she’s heartbroken. 

Daisy shakes her head. She doesn’t accept that logic. She has always had her own way of seeing things.

She lifts his hand, bringing it to her mouth. Her lips dance over the curve of his wrist. He wants to admit to her he’s terrified, that’s part of the reason. When he went down, the only thing he could think of, the idea of not seeing her again. He was already in too deep but this? this thing that’s been going on for the last couple of weeks? he’s only been getting deeper and deeper, he doesn’t see the bottom at all.

Daisy brushes her nose across the skin above the wrist bone.

“I love this bit, you know,” she says, pointing one finger to his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, your prosthetic is fantastic, but it can never replicate how great this little bit is. The softness, the hair..”

“Daisy-”

“Hey,” she interrupts him gently. “I know I might lose you someday. Or you might lose me. That’s the life we chose.”

Coulson nods. This is what he has been trying to say. But then he notices Daisy’s eyes - he knows that face - and realizes she’s not _agreeing_ with him at all.

“But we get to choose other things, too,” she says, her voice low but clear, her head bent over his wrist, like she means the words for his body, his skin, not him.

We do get to choose other things, Coulson thinks to himself. And he chooses to let Daisy decide for the two of them today.

 

**five.**

“You’re overcooking it,” he points out.

Daisy shifts where she sits, cross-legged, the thick blanket over her shoulders.

“I like it when the outside gets all scorchy,” she replies, keeping the marshmallow in the fire a little longer.

“Philistine,” Coulson jokes. He snakes an arm around he back and pulls her closer. Daisy appreciates it, it’s so cold and the heating inside the safe house has gone and died on them. The wind is torturing the tree branches next to the house, the hissing ringing in their ears all day. The big fire and the blankets help. Indulgent food and sitting on the carpet. Coulson is chewing his last marshmallow, shamelessly, like a kid. He kisses her shoulder through her sweater, taking a long breath as if he is trying to commit her smell to memory. It makes her smile, of course. He’s being very mellow and sappy today, now that they are stuck in this house for the night. Perhaps they are far enough from the rest of the world that he allows himself this behavior. So this is what it takes to loosen you up, Daisy thinks. He’s been all sorts of apologetic since he got shot and tried to break up with her for like five minutes. He’s not quite himself yet, and while Daisy wouldn’t normally enjoy that she recognizes being Coulson is exhausting, and he deserves a break.

He moves closer, stretching so he can kiss her neck. Daisy smiles. Her marshmallow is ready, just how she likes it. He kisses the right side of her neck, under her ear. Daisy giggles, her body going tense.

“Are you ticklish?” Coulson asks.

“Just on that spot.”

“I’ve kissed you there before.”

“Not that much,” she informs him. “You have a bias for my left ear.”

Coulson rearranges their positions, lying across her body, resting his head on Daisy’s knee.

“I can’t believe there are things I still don’t know about you,” he says, almost solemn, staring at her with this strange intensity. It’s silly, he knows everything about her, of course he does. This is just some stupid detail.

“I’m full of surprises,” she says, a bit embarrassed - no, a bit _overwhelmed_ by the way Coulson is looking at her now.

He lifts his hand to the spot he was just kissing now, pressing his thumb under her ear gently but hard enough that he wouldn’t tickle her too much with the touch.

“I’ll be more thorough from now on,” he promises her, his mouth half open in anticipation.

 _Her_ mouth half open in anticipation. Anticipation for the rest of her life. Stop drooling, Daisy tells herself. Eat your marshmallow.


End file.
